In India, as in many parts of the world, we follow a Monday-Friday work week. In Madras, where I grew up, a work week could be taxing for most. It was not the work itself, but the commute. I’m sure those of you who live in metros around the world (New York and Chicago especially) would understand. Madras can be quite an aggressive place and at least once a day, it was not uncommon for most people to be yelled at by someone on the road – be it an autorickshaw driver, a bus driver, a pedestrian, or a fellow car driver. The journey to and from work demanded high adrenalin and a thick skin, and provided a free lesson in the local 'gaalis' (swear words).
Professors, teachers, artists, sales execs and small business folk apart, most grown-ups we knew wrapped up their workdays at around 530 or 6pm and arrived home at 630 or 7pm, after a 30 minute to 1 hour commute by bus, car, autorickshaw, scooters or motorbikes.
Most kids in our neighbourhood returned home from school between 230pm and 430pm, depending on their after-school sports classes and also the time at which their schools closed for the day. While we were young, those of us whose mothers worked always had someone else receive us at home – a grandparent, an aunt, or a domestic help who had been with the family for ages.
As the years passed, this routine changed. Grandparents and aged housekeepers passed on, aunts got married and left. Some of us let ourselves in and took care of our younger siblings, made the tea and served snacks, etc…while some of us were once more received by recently hired cooks and housekeepers who had replaced the ones we’d lost. Evening fell, we spoke with our parents, dinner came by swiftly, it was study time again, and then we were off to bed, sometimes with our books on our chests…
After a 5 day cycle like this, it is not surprising that the weekends were looked forward to as a time to wind down. Come Saturday evening, families with younger children would let loose on Marina beach, while those with older children would opt for dining out, going for a walk in the park, catching up with family and friends over chai or an Indian dessert, or finishing up some shopping long due. College students would be off for a movie with friends or hanging out at the cooler Eliot’s Beach.
We really didn’t see too many unmarried couples hanging around because, well, honestly, the Madras back then was quite conservative. I’m guessing the only places where couples could hold hands were dark cinema halls, or cars with tinted and rolled up windows. You might think a beach or a park after dark might have worked, but only if you didn’t want to be robbed, or arrested by a policeman on his rounds. If it seems unbelievable, well...this was life in Madras till 2000, the last year I lived there and it seemed right.
After a lazy, happy Saturday, was the special Sunday lunch at home. Of course, each family made 'specials' peculiar to their community, religion, region...Different kinds of rice (lemon, tomato, tamarind, pulao), stews or kuzhambus (more Рyogurt, vatral Рroasted vegetable, kara Рspiced), curries, kootus (mashed vegetables with lentils), sambars (pearl onion, drumstick, gourd), rasams (lemon, Mysore, pepper), poriyals (vegetables saut̩ed with curry leaves and mustard seeds), avials, masaiyals, thuvaiyals...really a vibrant expression of each community.
Our North Indians friends also relished the South Indian sides and stews as the curry leaves and mustard seeds with which these dishes were seasoned would complement their cuisine – the East and West Indian seafood curries, and the North Indian tandoori or korma dishes.
As Urdu-speaking Deccani Muslims, our cuisine was a mix of the South and the North. Over the years, those of us who lived in Madras moved towards adopting Tamizh dishes and wholeheartedly appreciated some knock-outs like Chettinaad Chicken, Meen Kuzhambu, Mutton Varuval, and Liver Fry. Over time, we stopped using yogurt to lend body to our stews in the North Indian fashion (as our Grandmothers used to), opting for the richer and creamier South Indian coconut milk instead (as our Mothers did). If given a choice today, I would still opt for coconut milk over yogurt, except where it cannot truly be substituted (as in the Biryani yakhni).
More often than not, our breakfast choices grew to incorporate idlis, dosas, vadas and pongal rather than puris, chappatis, or parathas. I suppose our working mothers also found it convenient to just allow the Tamizh cooks to make what they were best at - the local fare. About 10 years ago, cereals caught on and from what my friends say, they are becoming more popular in all households due to a more hectic lifestyle and their convenience in use. Well! The pros and cons of globalization...
So on Sundays, in 80s and 90s Madras, our tables gathered the family around with the curries and the fries and the stews. I describe it that way because the Sunday repast was a big event, and all visitors who dropped in were welcomed to join. Somehow the bright blue skies, easy sea breeze, lazy puffs of clouds, and the hum of sleepy insects created these perfect Sundays fragrant with the blooms on the creepers of our garden, and heady with the aroma of a specially prepared family meal in appreciation of our gift of life, of living, and of one another…Sunday evenings were really a wind down time, gearing us up for the week ahead.
Sunday afternoon siestas were followed by bajjis (batter covered deep fried vegetables) or samosas (fried pies stuffed with minced meat or vegetables) or vadas (lentil and rice-batter savory doughnuts), and chai (tea made the Indian way). Then a game of cricket, a walk around the block, flying kites on the terrace, watching the weekly Sunday evening Tamizh movie telecast at 530pm, or catching up on reading and homework (the procrastinators like me, that is).
On these evenings, my parents played their favourite Hindi film music from the 60s, 70s, and 80’s (tape-recorders back then)…When I catch those strains from my husband’s laptop today, I remember those calm, golden, Sunday evenings in 80s and 90s Madras.
Here are some songs my father loved:
And yes, although this semi-classical one picturizes a couple off on a date, may I mention that it was shot in 1980’s Delhi…a very different place from the Madras of the 1990’s even… - ‘Kali Ghodi Dwar Khadi’ (roughly ‘the dark horse stood facing the portal’), from one of my favorite Hindi movies ‘Chashme-Baddoor’ (meaning ‘Begone, evil eye!’) - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yw4oWvCB19A&feature=fvst
